


Art of War (Art of Art logoRhythmic Mix)

by zvi



Category: Smallville
Genre: Family, M/M, Remix
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2003-03-27
Updated: 2003-03-27
Packaged: 2017-10-02 02:02:41
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,012
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1472
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/zvi/pseuds/zvi
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"The opposite of war isn't peace. It's creation!" La Vie Boheme B, Jonathan Larson</p><p>alternate summary: Clark's family taught him how to fight.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Art of War (Art of Art logoRhythmic Mix)

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [The Art of War](https://archiveofourown.org/works/147971) by [Liviapenn](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Liviapenn/pseuds/Liviapenn). 



#### The Art of Song

_Listen boy! A girl who trades on all that purity_

What an odd dream, thought Martha. Clark singing _The Music Man_.

Martha turned over and opened her eyes. The sun was shining and she was awake, but the singing didn't stop.

_No golden, glorious, gleaming pristine goddess, no sir_

She got up and grabbed a robe. She could dress later, but Clark was doing _terrible_ things to _Sadder But Wiser Girl_, and she needed to put a stop to it.

She walked in Anna's room singing, "No bright-eyed, blushing, breathless baby-doll baby, no s—." She blinked twice.

Clark was cradling his sister in his arms, not too unusual. But he was wearing a filthy dress shirt that she hadn't bought him and a pair of jeans too raggedy to take to college, five years ago. Also, Anna was giggling happily in his arms, bizarre for her night owl child. "Mama, Clark's here!"

"Mom, you're up!"

"I'd have been up sooner if somoene hadn't turned off my alarm."

He shrugged. "I wanted to talk to you, but not—right away. So, Dad's making waffles and I did the morning chores, fixed that far fence."

She smiled at him, came in and placed a kiss on each of her children's cheeks. "And got Anna up and smiling, for which I thank you." She plucked her daughter out of Clark's arms. "Go wash, honey. You've got school in a bit."

Anna nodded, ran off.

Martha immediately gave Clark a hug. Now that he was twenty-five, almost nothing sent him running home in the middle of the night. "Honey, what's wrong?"

"Lex and I had a fight."

Martha blinked. "Honey, you and Lex have been fighting, well, not since you met. But," she shrugged, "it's not unusual."

Clark shook his head. "This was different. He was shouting and—." Clark stood up, turned away. "It sounds stupid, I know. But we don't fight like that." He wiped angrily at his eyes. "I think it's over."

She hugged him again.

#### The Art of Words

"Dad?"

Jonathan looked at his son. Clark's head was down, hands in soapy water, washing the dishes from breakfast and lunch.

"You said you wanted to get something after lunch?"

"After we finish with the dishes," Jonathan said. "Don't want it to get wet."

Clark nodded, and the two men worked in silence, as they had all morning. It went quickly enough, and Jonathan gestured for Clark to follow him.

Jonathan pointed at the couch when they entered the front room but walked over to the bookcase. He found the book he was looking for immediately. He handed the battered volume to Clark, who took it gingerly.

He sat down as his son flipped the book over, then opened the front cover, and read aloud, "Martha, words have failed me. I looked here for an answer, but nothing really fits. All I can do is apologize. I'm sorry. I love you. Jonathan." Clark looked at his father. "I don't understand."

Jonathan smiled. "Your mother and I had a fight about three years after we got married. That year's crop was pretty bad, and a couple of your mother's friends from school were making a real name for themselves in Metropolis and—. It was a hard time. The two of us went at it hammer and tongs." He looked away and swallowed. "I broke a statue, gift from her mother, and she walked out."

"She walked out?" Clark looked shocked; he wrapped his arms around his body.

Jonathan nodded. "It took me a day to realize she wasn't coming back by herself. Another day to realize I wanted her back. A week to track her down. She was moving from friend to friend."

"So, you sent her this book, and everything was okay?" Clark's voice was thick and a little scornful.

Jonathan shook his head. "I gave the book to the people she was staying with. She called home and told me that nothing had changed. But we were talking and it was a start."

#### The Art of Art

Anna leapt off the bus and ran into the house, shouting, "Clark! Clark! You're home! Gimme a ride! "

Her brother picked her up and threw her over a shoulder. "You're too tall to sit on my shoulders. I think you have to hang out upside down." Clark laughed like a hyena.

Anna laughed too. Even if Clark was her dorky brother, she liked hanging upside down. "Clark! Got something for you! Wanna see?"

"Sure thing, Anna Banana." He put her down.

She reached in her backpack and pulled out a piece of tan paper. "I painted our family tree." She laid it on the table.

Clark picked her up, held her over the table. "Tell me about it."

She pointed to the middle group. "That's mom and me and Daddy and my calf, Tessie." She pointed to the top. "The big building is Metropolis, and there's you and Lex. I didn't put Mr. Luthor; he's scary." She looked up at her brother. "Hey, where's Lex? He said he'd give me Milka next visit, because Nestle's is worse than cow patties."

Clark knelt until he was even with her. His face was pinched and funny-looking, almost scary serious. "Lex won't come visit anymore."

Anna stuck her tongue out, which she wasn't supposed to do, but Clark was so _stupid_ sometimes, even if he was a million years old. "Lex is my _brother_. He can't just not come see me. Call him and make him come."

Clark pinched his lips together. "Anna, you remember how Sheila's parents got divorced, and now her mom isn't around? It's like that with me and Lex. He and I had a big fight, and now, he's not your brother."

"Clark, I have fights all the time. You and your friend get mad. And then you're not mad. So you say you're sorry. Did you say you were sorry?"

Clark looked back at her picture, then the floor. "No."

"Well call him and _apologize_. I want my cool brother."


End file.
